


Won't Say I'm In Love

by Iverna



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU, Captain Swan - Freeform, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 19:11:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8765506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iverna/pseuds/Iverna
Summary: AU set shortly after Neverland, in which the gang find themselves in the Enchanted Forest trying to defeat the Wicked Witch – and, in Emma’s case, trying not to admit her feelings for the pirate, until circumstances conspire to admit it for her. (Inspired by the trailer for Guardians of the Galaxy 2 - if you've seen it, you'll know which scene.)





	

She doesn’t meet his eyes after the ogre attack that nearly kills her. She lets her mother hug her, reassures everyone loudly that she’s okay, she’s fine, but she doesn’t look at him.

She doesn’t run to him when they rescue him from the Wicked Witch’s minions, his shirt ripped and his cheek bloodied. His eyes do meet hers, though, and she remembers thinking she’d never see him again. She remembers how she fought, with quiet, deadly determination and flat-out refusal to accept any other outcome than this.

She leaves the room once she’s healed his wounds after the skirmish with the flying monkeys, the claw marks and the blood imprinted on her memory. She doesn’t want to be there when he wakes up, and she leaves it to her mother to check on him. She knows he’s healed. And she knows that she doesn’t want to see him with his shirt off when he’s not hurt—or rather, she _does_ , which is exactly why she shouldn’t.

He follows her lead and does not reach out to her, does not take her hand or hug her the way she sometimes thinks he wants to.

But they are still on the same team, and he does not hold back with his opinions.

And that’s how they end up _here_.

“Swan, I really don’t think that you want to do this.”

“Yeah? Well, _I_ think I do, so we’re doing it.”

“ _I’m_ not.”

“No one’s asking you to!”

“I know th—I’m merely voicing a concern.”

“Oh, now you’re _concerned_?”

Emma brushes her hair out of her face and glares at the man standing, once again, far too close for comfort. Then again, when it comes to Killian Jones, “in the same country” is too close for comfort. “Comfort” is not an apt word to describe the mess inside of her. He puts her on edge, her heart pounding and her fists curling whenever he’s around, every nerve ending buzzing. Emma has been attracted to the wrong kind of man before, but this, this is so much worse. _He_ is so much worse. The disregard for authority combined with the way he always seems to notice everything and the flirting and the way he speaks his mind and the constant underlying thought that the flirting is actually just another instance of him speaking his mind...

No, she’s _not_ going there. He’s attractive and annoying. That’s it. A persistent thorn in her side. A thorn with the bluest eyes and the most insolent smile she’s ever seen.

Not that thorns have eyes. Or smiles.

She really is losing it. But after the whole Neverland thing, and now this stranded-in-the-Enchanted-Forest thing, Emma thinks that she can be forgiven for the occasional bad metaphor. She has more important things to worry about. Such as getting the pirate to stop arguing with her every step of the way.

He’s glaring right back at her, a narrow-eyed look that’s tinged with exasperation and something that actually does look like concern, but Emma does her best not to see it. It’s a trick of the light. The idea of Captain Hook being concerned for anyone but himself is ridiculous.

Emma doubles down on that thought, stamping another “ridiculous” across the notion in her mind. He doesn’t care. He can’t, because that would be...

Pointless? Stupid?

Cruel?

“As a matter of fact,” Killian goes on, “I am. I can’t imagine you’d enjoy having someone poke around in that head of yours.”

He’s right, but Emma would rather go another round with Pan’s shadow before admitting it. “Regina says it’s the only way. Right?”

She turns to Regina, who looks surprised—and Emma can’t blame her, because a few short months ago, the idea of turning to Regina for backup would never have occurred to her. But the queen recovers quickly, her features returning to the annoyed impatience that they always seem to carry when she witnesses a conversation between Emma and Killian.

“Yes,” she says, and the impatience rings in her voice, too. “The only way I can think of. Nymphs are annoying to deal with, but she’ll be able to help us.”

“Right,” Emma says, satisfied. “Anyway, it’s my heart, not my head.”

“Ah, yes, forgive me,” Killian says with a sarcastic curl of his lips. “Feelings laid bare instead of thoughts. I can see how you’d much prefer that.”

“Look, I’m not a fan of the idea,” Emma snaps, which might be the understatement of the year. “But I’m gonna do whatever it takes to defeat this witch and go home.”

He holds her gaze for another moment, then nods his assent, shrugging. “Very well, then. Lead on.”

The others aren’t much more enthusiastic about the plan than Emma is. No one except Regina has ever encountered a nymph, but everyone knows about their abilities. Distantly related to fairies, they can tell what’s in a person’s heart by touching them, and they feed on emotion—the stronger, the better.

“I don’t like it,” David growls as they make their way through the forest, following Regina. “I’ve heard they rile people up or scare them half to death, just so they can feed from the fear or the anger.”

“Only the dark-side ones,” Regina says with an elegant roll of her eyes. “And I already told you, we’re not going anywhere near one of _those_. Even if I could find one, which I can’t.”

“I still don’t like it,” David insists. “If anyone’s feelings are gonna be eaten, it’ll be me.”

“Oh for goodness’ sake,” Regina snaps. “It doesn’t work that way. They don’t actually _take_ anything. They just... draw energy from it. No one’s going to get hurt.”

“You’re thinking of vampires, mate,” Killian adds. “Nymphs are potentially embarrassing, but harmless.”

“Potentially embarrassing?” David echoes. “What?”

“Aye, believe it or not, some people don’t enjoy having their feelings listed out like the menu at Granny’s,” Killian says ruefully. “Especially with an audience.”

“Oh.” David slides a concerned look at Emma.

She makes a face at him. “It’ll be fine.”

The nymph is exactly as Regina described: a small, svelte woman with elfin features and long, black hair that drapes over her shoulders and breasts and down past her waist. Clad in only a white shift dress, she looks ethereal and beautiful, and Emma finds herself glancing at Killian to see his reaction.

He’s glowering, skulking beside Regina and looking broody, dark brows drawn down over those blue eyes. His frown deepens when the nymph confirms that she’ll only deal with a magic user, because only someone with magic will be able to wield the power she can grant them.

“I have two conditions,” she adds in her whispery, fluid voice. “You must let me see into your heart, so that I’ll know it’s true. And I shall take my pick of the price from everything you feel.”

Emma glances at Regina, who holds up both hands, refusal written all over her. Regina has already made it very clear that she will not be letting anyone look into her heart, and Emma knows why. Regina already knows the answer, and she does not need a reminder, especially not with Henry watching.

Now that it comes to it, Emma thinks, it really doesn’t seem like a good plan anymore. Does she really need this power? She has her own magic, and so does Regina, and they have swords and a bow and a hook...

But if she wants to defeat the Wicked Witch, she needs the land itself. And other than the darkest magic, used to corrupt rather than aid, the nymph’s power is the only option.

Besides, it’s not like she really has much to hide. In fact, she’s been thinking that this might be good. A little embarrassing, maybe, but it’s not like she’s actually ashamed of having a family, of loving her son and her parents. She’s just not the best at showing it. And she’s accepted her role as Savior, accepted that she has magic, and it’ll probably be cheesy as hell to be told that her heart is true or whatever, but she’s in the company of fairytale characters. They won’t hold it against her. Henry and Snow will probably cheer.

And even if, for some unfathomable reason, the nymph happens to mention that she’s come to care about Regina or that she finds Killian attractive... well, she can handle that, too. Her pride can take a hit for the cause, and so can her reputation.

She lets out a breath. “I accept.”

The nymph nods, moves gracefully forward, and reaches out with a slender hand. Emma takes it, feeling supremely ridiculous already and keeping her eyes on the nymph, mostly to avoid looking at anyone else.

“Love,” the nymph breathes after a moment. Her eyes are shining. “And sorrow, so deep... but so much love.”

“Uhm,” Emma says, shifting her weight. She wants to say something, but she can’t seem to think of a response. She’s half-tempted to make a quip, but she can’t quite make it work.

“A true heart, indeed,” the nymph goes on. Emma glances at Henry, finds him smiling happily as he leans into Regina’s side.

The nymph is smiling, too. “It seems I am spoiled for choice. I don’t often get to sample love, and you... you have so much of it. For your son, your parents...”

Emma’s throat is a little dry, but she looks up at Snow and David, to see them watching with identical happy smiles on their faces. Snow is a little misty-eyed; David just looks proud.

“But _this_... this is rarer still,” the nymph says slowly. “Yes, that’s my price. The love you have for _him_.”

And she points.

At Killian.

There’s a moment, just a moment, where he looks completely floored. Emma’s heart seems to have stopped. Everyone is silent. Emma stares at Killian. Killian stares at Emma.

Then he grins the biggest, most ridiculous grin that she’s ever seen on those stupidly handsome features, and Emma’s heart is apparently trying to catch up on all the beats it just missed, and oh. _Oh_. This is bad.

She rounds on the nymph, snatching her hand away. “No, no. That’s not—that’s ridiculous.”

The nymph only looks confused.

Heat is creeping up Emma’s neck and into her cheeks, and she knows she’s blushing, she’s probably turning bright red, and this is so, so bad. “I’m not—look, you got it wrong, okay, just because I—“

“I did _not_ get it wrong,” the nymph says, looking cross now.

And Emma remembers the conversation from before. “You’re trying to rile me up,” she bursts out. “Aren’t you? You said that to—“

“Oh, Emma, stop,” Regina cuts in, looking for all the world like she’s struggling not to laugh. “You’re only going to make it worse.”

“Regina,” Snow reprimands her, her tone gentle but firm. “Emma, it’s okay.”

Beside Snow, David is glowering at the nymph, silently siding with Emma’s accusation. As Emma looks, he switches to glare at Killian instead, as if it’s the pirate’s fault. The man himself is still too busy grinning to contribute anything useful to the conversation. Probably a good thing, all things considered.

“If I was the kind to rile you up,” the nymph says, ignoring everyone except Emma and still looking very offended, “I would have picked a fight or threatened the people you love, not simply observed it.”

And it occurs to Emma that while the nymph can see her heart, she can’t read her thoughts. She doesn’t know Emma. She has no way of knowing that this, this _suggestion_ would meet with this reaction.

She wants to say something, but the only thing that comes to mind is _oh, bloody hell_. Emma does not say it.

“You would’ve if you knew her,” Regina tells the nymph, still looking far too smug.

Emma is rooted to the spot, caught between the urge to run and the desire to stay and the wish that someone would come and just hide her away from the world for a while, and she wonders if the nymph’s power would enable her to open a hole in the ground that will swallow her because that sounds pretty appealing right now.

She doesn’t love Killian Jones. She can’t, because not only would that be _really_ embarrassing after everything she’s said about and to him, it would also be... well, terrifying. She can’t go falling in love with _Captain Hook_ , with his flirty smiles and his perceptive comments and his damnable _sincerity_ that makes her feel so exposed, like she’s standing on a ledge with nowhere to go but into the unknown.

Especially since he is still smiling like someone just handed him the key to Anton’s treasure room along with a certificate of ownership and a crane to get it all down to the ground, and Emma’s bracing herself for the moment when he finds some words, because he’s going to gloat, he’s got something to hold over her now, and if Regina’s reaction is any indication, she’s _never_ going to live it down—

She cuts off her own thoughts, angry now. _No._

No one is going to hold anything over her. If they try, she’ll make them regret it. And if he gloats, she’s going to punch him.

Fed up of delaying the inevitable, she lifts her chin and looks at him, silently daring him to say something.

His eyes narrow slightly, and his grin disappears, though she swears that there’s still a light in his eyes.

He opens his mouth—

“Perhaps we can move on from Her Majesty’s jealousy at being left out,” he says. “I believe we’re here for a purpose?”

David shoots him a startled look, edged with respect. Snow smiles. Regina glares at him. He shrugs one shoulder at her, looking smug, though for once Emma doesn’t find the expression annoying. Instead, all she feels is relief—and a warm rush of _something_ in her chest. She suppresses the urge to smile like an idiot, but it’s a close thing.

She turns back to the nymph. “Sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean... sorry.”

The nymph only nods, and holds her hand out again. Emma takes it. Moments later, something light and airy seems to flow into her. Her skin feels warmer in the sunshine, she can smell the coming rain on the breeze, and for a brief, disorienting moment, she thinks she knows what it’s like to be a tree.

The moment passes, but the feeling stays. She can feel the forest around her, leaves and branches moving in the breeze, water being drawn through deep roots, and the solid steadiness of the rocks far below.

There’s only one word for it. “Whoah.”

“Emma?” her mother asks.

“Yeah,” Emma breathes. She drops her hand again, and looks up at concerned faces. “Yeah. I’m good.”

No one brings the subject of love up again as they leave the nymph, more concerned with planning their next move. And long before they can even think about making camp for the night, they run into Robin Hood and his band of misfits again, and once again find themselves in a battle.

Emma stands her ground, literally, her feet rooted to the earth and magic flying from her fingertips. The earth shakes; the trees move, branches whipping at the winged monkeys and sending them tumbling into swords and arrows and, on several occasions, a gleaming silver hook.

There are no casualties or serious injuries this time. The nymph’s power, combined with Emma’s innate magic, is finally enough.

Afterwards, Regina is far too busy arguing with Robin Hood over battle tactics and the chain of command to spare Emma so much as a glance, never mind any snarky comments, and Emma grins and goes looking for Killian.

She finds him at the edge of the camp that Robin’s people are setting up, sitting on a fallen tree trunk as he cleans his blade with a cloth.

“Hey,” she says, and he looks up sharply, blue eyes bright in the evening light.

“Is everything all right?” He’s already looking around and past her, checking for trouble.

“Yeah, fine.” She folds her arms, then drops them again. “I just wanted to—you okay?”

“Impeccable,” he says, and the ghost of a cocky smile touches his lips as he gestures down at himself, “as you see.”

She shakes her head at his arrogance, not quite holding back a smile of her own. “Right.”

There’s a pause. Then they both speak at once.

“I just wanted to—“

“You were bloody ama—“

They both break off, staring, then laughing. Killian gestures. “Go ahead, love.”

“No, no,” Emma demurs, “I think you were about to compliment me.”

He looks delighted. “Aye, you were amazing back there.”

She shrugs. “I guess her gift works.”

“It appears so.” He seems about to say more, but settles for a nod.

“Look, what she said...” Emma trails off. The words are there, somewhere, but she can’t seem to find them.

He’s silent for a moment, until he’s sure she’s not about to speak again. “It’s all right, Swan. We needn’t mention it again if you’d rather not.”

Emma knows what he’s doing. He’s doing what he always does, putting the ball in her court, letting her set the pace. And it’s right, it’s what she needs, but sometimes... sometimes she wishes that he’d just forge ahead, get it all out in the open.

But there’s no way he can know that she’s ready for that until she tells him. He’s perceptive, but he’s not a mind reader. Not to mention that, until very recently, she didn’t know that she was ready for it either. And she did protest rather vehemently at the mere thought of it, earlier. That can’t have been easy to hear.

No, the ball is definitely in her court, and it’s time to hit it back and see where it lands.

“And if I do?” she asks. “Want to mention it?”

There’s a cautious sort of light in his eyes now, that ghost of a smile still lurking on his face. It’s the face of the man who changed the subject when she needed him to, saving her from Regina’s smug commentary instead of contributing his own. “Then I’d invite you to sit, or perhaps walk with me, and do so.”

“You’ve got that old-fashioned charm on lock-down, don’t you,” she says, and extends a hand. “Let’s walk, then. I want to put up a few wards for the night.”

He slides the now-clean sword back into its scabbard, takes her hand, and gets to his feet. “I thought Regina was doing that.”

“I’m better with protective magic,” Emma says without arrogance. Then she smiles. “Besides, she looked kinda preoccupied when I left.”

“Ah.” He nods, his teeth flashing white in the falling dusk as he grins. He’s still holding her hand, and she makes no move to withdraw it as they walk a little further into the forest. “The outlaw.”

“Uh-huh.” She slides him a look. “Seems kind of a theme around here, huh.”

“What is?”

“You know.” She shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “Royalty and bandits...”

His hand tightens around hers, and he stops. “Emma.”

“Yeah?” It comes out a little hoarse, fading to a whisper.

“I—“ He looks down, then back at her, blue eyes through inky black lashes. “I realise that your head rules your heart, so this won’t change anything unless you decide to let it. But I want you to know that I feel the same.”

Her heart seems to trip and tumble a little, and it’s a challenge not to let on. It’s not that it’s a surprise, not really, not after what he said in Neverland and the way he’s been with her ever since. But it still seems to take her breath away.

“Did you know?” she asks, thinking back to their argument before. “What she was gonna say?”

“What? No.” He shakes his head, reaches up with his hook to scratch behind his ear. “Though I did suspect that you wouldn’t like whatever she blurted out.”

There’s no trace of bravado in his expression now, though that smile is still there, taking the sting out of his words. Masking his insecurity.

“Damn it, no, that’s not what I—“ Emma breaks off. She is so _bad_ at this. Part of her is squirming away from the words, because words are overwhelming. Actions are easier. “It was just, you know. Timing.”

And thankfully, he seems to get it, because he shifts towards her, a smile edging onto his face. “No, what I’m hearing is that I was right,” he says. “With my concerns regarding the plan.”

“ _I_ was right,” she argues, but she’s smiling, too. “It was the only way. And it _worked_.”

“A truce, then,” he suggests, a teasing light still in his eyes. “We were both right.”

And it’s easy then, reaching up to slide her hand around the side of his neck, her thumb brushing his scruff-covered jaw. She leans up a little.

His throat works as he swallows, and he’s tilting his head down to her, eyes already half-shut. She closes hers when her lips touch his, just a gentle, chaste kiss, though there’s nothing chaste about the noise he makes or the way she bumps her hips into his.

He pulls back a little, and for once, she’s the one who follows, chasing his lips with a smile.

“Emma,” he rasps, and then his lips are on hers again, and she loses herself in the kiss, parting her lips to let him in. His tongue sweeps into her mouth and she lets go of his hand so she can wind both of her arms around his neck.

He kisses her with all the pent-up longing of the past few weeks, or maybe months, she can’t say. His arms go around her, the curve of his hook pressing into her back, and she kisses him the way she wanted to kiss him after the rescue. After the attack. After she saved his life.

So many times. So many lost chances.

Afterwards, he presses his forehead to hers, a smile on his lips. “I love you.”

“Hmm.” Emma tilts her head to steal another kiss. “Good.”

“Does that mean you’ll give me a chance?” he asks, and his tone is light, but she can hear the weight behind it, the tension, the way he’s holding his breath for her answer. A man on the edge, and she knows that if she thinks about that too much she might just fling herself at him after all, throw her arms around him and never let go.

It doesn’t sound like such a terrible idea anymore. She’ll keep it in mind for later.

For now, she shrugs, although it doesn’t come off nearly as nonchalant as she intends. “You’ve had worse ideas.”

“Aye,” he agrees, his voice impossibly soft now, to go with the way he’s smiling at her. “But never a better one.”

Emma laughs, because it’s ridiculous— _he’s_ ridiculous, with the honesty in his words and the devotion in his eyes. But then again, she’s the one with the true heart, the one who had her love for him proclaimed before the whole world, so she’s not really in a position to judge right now. Besides which, it’s kind of nice.

Actually, it’s _really_ nice.

She really needn’t have worried about her pride, she finds. She doesn’t seem to be missing any of it. In fact, she’s feeling pretty damn proud of herself.

She does throw her arms around him, after all. It’s not like it can do any harm, at this point. And it feels nice, the way he lets out a surprised breath and the way his arms go around her and the way his laugh rumbles in his chest. She laughs, too, and if it’s a little giggly, well, who cares.

“Hey, Killian?” Her voice is muffled against his shoulder, but she doesn’t move.

“Hmm?”

“I love you, too.”


End file.
